


Let Them Go And Fade Into Light

by Lion_owl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Court Sorcerer Merlin, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Work In Progress, ch1 can be a stand-alone, everyone finds out about merlin's magic, everyone still died but they come back, more tags may be added/some may change, the first chapter kind of serves as a prologue and it is. angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-03-28 14:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lion_owl/pseuds/Lion_owl
Summary: After the victory at Camlann and the death of Morgana, Queen Guinevere has lifted the ban on magic and Camelot is thriving – but with a new threat looming on the horizon, Arthur and the other fallen knights must return considerably sooner than Merlin anticipated; and they have a surprising ally by their side





	1. Chapter 1

The sun had receded into the sky by the time Percival found Morgana’s dead body on the ground. He thought perhaps he should bury her, but then the sight of Gwaine’s pale face flashed through his mind, remembered watching the life drain from his best friend, and couldn’t bring himself to go near her. It was wrong of him, he thought, but his head was swimming, and his thoughts consumed with the need to find Merlin and Arthur before – he gulped, not wanting to think about that. Their tracks led towards the lake of Avalon, just as Gaius had said.

The first crack of dawn found him standing on its shore, and a little way down the beach he could see Merlin standing, his shoulders shaking in heavy sobs as he gazed out across the water. (Percival decided not to question the dragon he had just seen flying away; perhaps it was his imagination playing tricks on him.) Following Merlin’s line of sight, he saw a small object on the water, a boat by the looks of things – so Arthur was dead, then. He watched as the boat lit on fire, seemingly of its own accord, inexplicable were it not for the unrecognisable words he could hear Merlin speaking.

Merlin had magic.

The realisation didn’t come as much of a surprise as Percival might have expected it to: between all of their lucky escapes in battles and skirmishes over the years, Merlin surviving being attacked by a Dorocha, and the fact he’d always known that Lancelot had been close to an unnamed sorcerer. The dragon was perhaps a bit more to consider, if that indeed had Merlin’s name on it, but he pushed it out of his mind - had more pressing things to deal with at that moment.

He watched from the treeline as the boat burned, turning his king’s body to ash, until the fire died down as the sun began to rise. Merlin continued to stand there. His shoulders had stilled, and the silence of movement in the area chilled Percival as he approached. Merlin said nothing, but he turned around and gave Percival a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the water.

The dying light in Gwaine’s eyes pushed to the fore of his mind again, the man slumped over in death, the cairn Percival had built as a makeshift gravestone after burying him. He had thought of taking him back to be buried in Camelot, but that would mean carrying his body to Avalon and home again, and he didn’t think he could bear that.

Now though, he was going to have to tell Merlin. He wished he could hide it from him forever, to spare Merlin any further pain, but he couldn’t, since Merlin would expect to see Gwaine when he got back to Camelot, would expect to have Gwaine there to hold him and comfort him as he cried out as his pain for the loss of Arthur. But Gwaine wouldn’t be there, waiting for him when he got back.

Percival cursed himself for agreeing to go after Morgana. He should have insisted that she could have been dealt with another time, insisted Gwaine wait for Merlin where he was safe. Apparently, he accidentally cursed aloud, because Merlin turned to face him again, a question in his eyes.

“We should make camp for a few hours,” he suggested weakly, not knowing what else to say. Merlin looked like he could use a rest, and Percival knew certainly couldn’t lead with ‘ _I know that I’ve just discovered you have magic and I know you’ve just buried your king and good friend, but by the way, your last remaining lover was murdered by Morgana this afternoon’._

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, walking back to the shadow of the forest where Percival’s horse was waiting – he didn’t know where Merlin and Arthur’s horses were, didn’t think he should ask, in case what he suspected was true. Merlin lay down on the forest floor and Percival found a log to sit on, facing sideways so as to give Merlin a sense of privacy but not to be so far away if Merlin needed him.

~

He woke up to find the sun had reached its Zenith. He hadn’t intended to sleep; certainly hadn’t intended to fall off the back of his perch, his neck lying at an awkward angle to the ground. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head and brushing dry leaves off his chainmail.

Merlin was sitting up too, awake, his features forlorn. “We should make for Camelot,” he said when he looked and saw Percival awake. He knew this was going to be a journey of minimal conversation, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t Gwaine or Lancelot or Freya, he wasn’t Gaius or Gwen or Hunith or Arthur, but nevertheless he hoped his presence would bring some comfort to Merlin. At the very least, if he was here he could keep an eye on Merlin and make sure he didn’t do anything rash.

He insisted Merlin have his horse, and helped him climb up onto the saddle before taking the rein and guiding the horse, walking beside the pair in silence, stewing over how to tell Merlin about Gwaine. He had to tell him before they got back to Camelot. He couldn’t have him running off to find someone who would not be there. Pain and anxiety twisted in his chest and gut. He hadn’t even had a chance to really grieve himself for Gwaine. Hadn’t had a chance to absorb that his best friend was never coming back. He half expected to get back to Camelot and find out Leon was dead, too. He pushed the thought away. Down that road lay madness.

After some time had passed – how much time, Percival couldn’t have said – Merlin cleared his throat and told him that his horse should be waiting on the other side of a clearing they could see approaching.

“Right where we left them,” Merlin remarked when they came upon the two horses tied to a tree, lying beside each other chewing at something they had pulled out of the undergrowth. Percival didn’t comment on the use of plural language. They swapped horses, again in silence, and took off at a canter towards Camelot, Arthur’s horse tethered behind them.

When night fell they were still several hours from the city so they stopped to make camp again. Percival went to hunt something for dinner while Merlin collected firewood and set it in a pile amid a circle of stones that were the remnants left by a previous traveller.

Merlin was standing staring at the cold hearth when Percival got back, dragging a wild boar behind him.

“Forbaernan,” Merlin muttered, and as Percival watched, his eyes flashed gold and the wood set alight. He didn’t know if Merlin had figured out that Percival knew, or if he just didn’t care any more. Either way, Percival wouldn’t say anything to anyone unless Merlin asked him to. Merlin went to begin preparing the meal, but Percival shook his head.

“Let me,” he said, taking the knife from Merlin.

“What are you not telling me?” Merlin asked.

Percival froze. “How do you mean?”

“There’s something else, isn’t there? Something that you’re not telling me.” Merlin looked so unbelievably sad and Percival’s heart broke for him. This was it. He had to tell him. He opened and closed his mouth several times, not sure where to begin.

“Yes, I’m afraid…” Percival trailed off, shook his head and started again. “I’m afraid I have more bad news.” He could feel tears welling in his eyes. Preparing to tell Merlin made it suddenly seem more real, as though he had been denying Gwaine’s death to himself up until now. He didn’t know how he could say it; for Merlin or for himself.

Merlin was watching him intently, his eyes filling with fear. “Gwaine?” he asked. “He’s… injured, isn’t he?”

Percival swallowed, blinked to fight against the tears threatening to burst from him, his chest tightening in pain.

“He’s dead,” he said quietly.

Merlin did cry, hoarse sobs wracking his body. It was almost too much for Percival to hold back the tears then, but somehow it felt wrong, selfish, to cry in front of Merlin, as though he was usurping his pain. Merlin wouldn’t think that way, he was sure. Merlin knew Gwaine had been his best friend, wouldn’t think it to be any less important than the romantic love they had shared, would be glad he wasn’t the only one who grieved for a man who had spent most of his life alone, unloved. But Percival couldn’t, wouldn’t cry.

“Why is he dead?” Merlin asked, a rhetorical question, Percival assumed. “Why did he have to die? I can’t,” his voice raspy, his breathing difficult. “First Freya, then Lancelot and now Gwaine…” and Percival didn’t know what to say. “I can’t be without them.” Merlin sank to his knees then. The ground was still wet from the previous day’s rain and mud soaked into his trousers where they touched the ground. He cried, and Percival did the only thing he could think of.

He sat behind Merlin, and pulled him into a tight hug. “Let it all out,” he whispered, holding him. “It’s alright.” It wasn’t. It wasn’t alright in the slightest. “I’m here.”

~

“I can’t go back to Camelot straight away, I don’t think,” Merlin said.

“Will you come back later?” Percival asked.

“Of course. I just need, maybe a week, or two. To process everything that’s happened.”

“Where will you go?”

~

Percival escorted Merlin to Ealdor, not wanting to see him left alone. Now he knew Merlin had magic, he knew he was more than capable of defending himself – perhaps more so than what Percival was, after all, a sword was only a stick with a pointed edge.

But he escorted him anyway.

When they arrived in the village he saw the familiar figure of a woman kneeling on the ground, tending to a flowerbed. Hunith looked up when she heard the hooves of their horses, and a grin spread on her face at when she saw Merlin, quickly fading at the sight of his own expression. He dismounted his horse and ran to her, and she pulled him into an embrace.

~

Leon and a group of knights were in the courtyard when Percival finally reached Camelot, having just returned from patrol themselves. He went to him as Percival dismounted his horse, and they stood facing each other for a moment before mutually deciding to forego etiquette and hugging each other tightly. Percival buried his face in Leon’s neck, in his hair, breathing in his scent.

“You’re alive,” Leon seemed like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, but relief flooded his features when they pulled back to look at each other. A gloved hand rested on his cheek and Percival could feel the adrenaline leaving him, and all he wanted was for them to return to their chambers, fall down on the bed and sleep for a week. But they had business to attend to first. They needed to see the Queen.

“Gwaine?” Leon asked as they headed up the steps, staying close by. Percival shook his head and swallowed.

Gwen and Gaius were waiting for them in the throne room.

“Merlin’s gone to Ealdor,” Percival told them, getting straight to the point. He nodded at Gaius. “He said he’d come back in a few days. Gwaine’s dead. Morgana too.”

Gwen smiled bitterly at the news of Morgana. They had been close once. Friends. Perhaps more. “And Arthur?” she asked, and Percival noticed she was holding the Royal Seal. Arthur must have given it to her before he left.

“My Lady…” he dropped his head, and she knew.


	2. Chapter 2

Camelot has been different since Camlann. The Kingdom is still trying to wrap its head around Arthur’s death, and Gwen is too. She misses him.

Leon had told her once that the knights would stand behind her were Arthur to die and she were to become the ruling monarch – of course, that had been in very different circumstances, but he and Percival had reiterated that promise the night she had assumed the throne.

And where Leon led, the other knights followed.

It didn’t make it easier.

Camelot has been different since Camlann. Word spread pretty quickly that Morgana’s army of Saxons were defeated almost single-handedly by a sorcerer whom few had ever seen before. The rumour was he had also fended off a dragon. He had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. There were those who whispered that his name was Emrys.

There were those who whispered that he lived under another name.

She misses him, as well.

From the earliest days of their friendship, Gwen had known there was something about Merlin. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. She had first suspected he was a sorcerer the day her father was inexplicably cured of the plague in the water, and Merlin seemed to have known he was better. She kept her mouth shut.

There had been other instances over the years – Merlin always seemed to know what was going on better than anyone; and there had been many instances of things being accomplished, things Gaius had insisted were either impossible, or only possible through the use of magic, and yet, somehow, a non-magical solution had been found with very little explanation. Uther had swallowed it all up, and who is to say what Arthur believed – but Gwen had rarely been convinced.

And there had been the time Morgana planted a poultice to frame Gwen for sorcery: a sorcerer had appeared, confessed to the charges, thus exonerating Gwen, and then disappeared equally as quickly; except he hadn’t been any more guilty of enchanting Arthur than Gwen had – something only she, Arthur, Merlin and Gaius knew.

That man had been the same one as the Sorcerer who had stood on that hill and defeated the Saxons; Gwen was sure of it.

Gaius had confirmed her suspicions, that fateful day.

She had since spent many an evening pondering what to do. Thankfully, there had been no reports of sorcery use that she’d had to attend to – she knew she could not bring herself to execute someone for something she didn’t believe to be a crime. Officially, the identity of the sorcerer from Camlann was still unknown, so that gave her the opportunity to broach the topic with Merlin in private first, when he came back.

And, indeed – Gwen, too, had been different since Camlann: since she’d started throwing up in the mornings.

~

The snow was melting as winter gave way for the arrival of spring, and the sound of children splashing around in the puddles had brought some laughter back to Camelot.

Gwen glanced again at the manuscript rolled up on her desk. A new year was upon them, a new time of peace, and with the change in weather it meant soon it would be safer to travel greater distances once more, which meant she’d asked Leon to draw her up the next list of names.

She’d made it her personal duty to visit the families of those knights felled at Camlann. Normally, this would be the job of the surviving knights and their squires, but Arthur had tried to begin making a habit of visiting people himself if he could, and she had vowed upon his death she would make it a tradition in Camelot that would last.

It was her responsibility. It was all her responsibility now. The entire kingdom. It was something she never could have prepared for, never expected; not even when she married Arthur and became Queen only four years ago, did she think to find herself in such a position. Having Leon, Percival and Gaius by her side helped, but it didn’t make it easier. They were supposed to rule the kingdom _together._ That’s what Arthur had promised on their wedding night.

Curse it all. She missed him. She missed everyone. Even Morgana. Less that she missed the person who had caused them so much trouble over the years; more that she longed for what could have been. Missed the girl for whom she had fallen back when she first came to the palace, feeling scared and only a girl herself, the woman who had become one of her best friends. And then one day she had disappeared for a year and that, initially unbeknownst to Gwen, had been the end of that.

“My Lady,” Leon’s voice brought her out of her reverie. She turned to face him. “I apologise for the disturbance, my Lady. Sir Richard is here, he begs an audience with you.”

She pinched her forehead and tried not to groan. “Must I see him?” she asked, more to the world at large than to Leon particularly.

“He is quite insistent.” Leon’s manner remained formal, save for a sympathetic glint in his eye.

“It is not, or it should not be, the Monarch’s job to settle a petty land dispute between squabbling noblemen. If Sirs Richard and Malcolm would only deign to actually meet themselves then perhaps they could figure this out.”

“I think we both know why they won’t do that.” Leon said.

Gwen composed herself and headed to the council chamber.

“My Lady, my good Queen,” Sir Richard said when she entered, giving her an exaggerated bow. “How might I find you on this beautiful day?”

“Short of time,” Gwen said through gritted teeth. “Please keep it brief.”

“I have received word from Sir Malcolm that he will not agree to my latest terms…”

“Why am I not surprised,” Gwen said. People like this would never change. “Perhaps you should meet with him. It is not difficult.”

Sir Richard continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Of course, I might be willing to concede _all_ of the land in question to him, were you to reconsider my other proposal. I may not be a prince, but I could provide you much happiness.”

“Sir Malcolm made me the same proposal,” Gwen informed him calmly. “I turned him down too. Now here is mine: sort it out between the two of you or I will seize the land and bestow it upon a third party. Do not trouble me again.” And with that, she gestured to the guards to see him out, and departed from the room.

It wasn’t until she was safely in the deserted corridor behind it that she dropped the air and leaned against the wall, one hand finding its way to rest on her stomach.

“You’re doing well, Gwen,” Leon said, joining her. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling back at him.

“Perhaps we should wed,” Leon suggested, startling Gwen.

“I thought you… didn’t think you… what?” she shook her head. “What of you and Percival?” Surely Leon didn’t harbour romantic feelings for her? They’d been friends for so long now; she thought of him as a brother, and, she believed, he of her as a sister. Even if that weren’t so, he could never replace Arthur in her heart.

“I mean it in name only,” he assured her. “To keep Sir Richard and other men like him off your back. I would like to marry Percival but it’s not absolutely essential to our life together. He was actually the one who suggested it.”

“I appreciate the offer, truly. But I think I would prefer to hold off on it for now. Who knows, I’m still young, perhaps I will find love again.”

“I truly hope you do, Gwen.”

~

Gwen glanced at the manuscript rolled up on her desk. Several weeks had passed since Camlann, and this was the last list – and the one for which she was feeling the most trepidation; she’d begun her visits in the heart of Camelot and worked her way outward, and this list contained the names of knights whose families lived in villages on either side of the borders.

One of them was in Ealdor.


End file.
